When life rhythms doesn't actually sound no more like duduke When you hate the sight of sunrise because you gave up already on the day unfolding since last night when you soaked your pillows drenched When the cover of darkness is the safest place you felt at peace; far from all preying eyes, probing questions at every turn all fuelled not by care or compassion but to confirm and satisfy their thirst for stories of your failure When your silent outer self is an exact opposite of the raging war happening in the inside, yet wrapped around a smile as you trod past memories of sweet before all but gone in the fleeting moments When conversations became sour, chaotic and a battle of who is wrong or right, all aimed to massage a battered ego bruised and scared from previous encounters on the alter of moral justification fanned When the voices, the only voices that you hear, that sound like songs and meaningful to you only lead to a place of darkness with no light in sight When you look
Bridging the gap between my thoughts and ink